


and miles to go before I sleep

by ohgeelato



Category: Dragon Age
Genre: And then he can be completely brilliant, Angstfest, Deathfic, F/M, Fenris can be quite dense sometimes, Gen, Minor Character Death, Post-All That Remains, Self harm trigger, Suicide Trigger, which you already know means TEARS EVERYWHERE
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-15
Updated: 2012-07-15
Packaged: 2017-11-10 00:48:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/460390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohgeelato/pseuds/ohgeelato
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for a prompt on the DA kinkmeme.</p><p>After her mother's death, Hawke sequesters herself in her house, struggling to move on. One day, at her lowest point, she attempts to commit suicide by slicing her wrists but is found by Fenris, who immediately thinks, 'Blood magic!'</p><p>Then he finds out it isn't. </p><p>Then he helps Hawke to come to terms with what's happened.</p>
            </blockquote>





	and miles to go before I sleep

**Author's Note:**

> Please note that there is a trigger warning for suicide and self-harm, so if that is something you cannot deal with, I think this fic isn't for you.
> 
> Please also note that there will be a sort-of, not-quite happy ending, because I cannot deal with so much angst.

Hawke didn’t leave her estate for weeks after her mother’s death.

It seemed as if Hawke would never crawl out of this; the furthest and hardest she’s ever fallen.

The images of the monstrosity with her mother’s face, shambling towards her, falling into her arms were seared into her mind.

Hawke wanted these thoughts to leave her, but she also wanted them to stay; to punish her, taunt and torment her.

She curled up into a ball on her bed. She couldn’t remember the last time she had left her room.

When was the last time she ate? When was the last time she showered?

Did it even matter anymore?

She had asked Bodahn, Sandal and Orana to find another place to stay, at least for a while, temporarily. They all wanted to comfort her, to give her their condolences and she didn’t think she could stand it.

And now, with only her in the vast mansion, it was as if someone had thrown a blanket over the Hawke estate, isolating it from the rest of the world.

The house had become too big, too quiet, too empty.

The house suddenly seemed to have too many memories.

She gripped her knees so hard that her knuckles turned white.

**{***}**

Aveline was the first person to visit Hawke in the aftermath. She was the first person Hawke had seen since…the day she locked herself in the house.

Hawke could hear the clinking of the heavy platemail that was Aveline’s uniform coming up the stairs and into her room.

“Hawke…” she started, slowly, unsure of what to say when she saw Hawke perched on the edge of her bed, staring at nothing in particular.

Silence. Numb, she was numb. She hadn’t used her voice in days now, and even if she wanted to talk to Aveline ( _she didn't, she didn't want to talk to anyone, she didn’t want to talk ever_ ), it would have taken her a while to work up her voice.

“Everyone’s been worried about you,” Aveline continued, still standing a little way away from the bed, “We thought we’d give you some… time… to recover.” She paused, waiting for a reply that wasn't going to come.

“You… know where to find me if you want to talk about it. I understand if you don’t,” she finally said, when she realized it was going to be a one-sided conversation. She took one last look at Hawke, and then left the house. Left the house alone to Hawke again.

The house that seemed to be suffocating her.

**{***}**

She had started wandering the house. The kitchen. The library. The hall.  

Then one day, she went into her mother’s room.

Everything had a light layer of dust over them, making them seem sort of hazy, as if Hawke was looking at it in a dream. Everything was in place, not a pillow or book out of place.

It looked peaceful, undisturbed. It looked like what it was; like no one had lived in there for a while now.

Seeing the painfully empty room made reality hit her like a ton of bricks: her mother was dead. It hadn’t been a horrible joke. Her mother wasn’t going to come home and chide her for sequestering herself in the mansion. That… thing that died had truly been her mother.

An indescribable feeling of loss flared up in the pits of her stomach and worked its way steadily towards her heart. She slumped down to the ground, bent over.

‘ _Go away, go away, go away, go away_ ,’ she chanted in her mind, willing this gaping hole that yawned in the core of her being to leave. Her world had sharpened to that one point in herself and she couldn’t think about anything else. She was drowning, adrift in grief and loss and guilt and _no no no no no, how could she have not seen this coming?_

She had been so close – _so close_ – to saving her mother. But that was what happened every time. She was always just one step too late.

First it was Bethany, sweet Bethany, who always tried to do the right thing as best as she could. Who always thought she’d have her big sister to look out for her. Who died because Hawke wasn’t close enough to protect her from the Blighted ogre.

Then it had been Carver, the idiotic brother who had relished in arguing with her every step of the way, constantly challenging her while putting himself down at the same time. Carver, who’d been strong and brave and reckless. Her annoying brother, who had succumbed to the Taint because Hawke wasn’t observant enough, didn’t notice her brother’s pallor and dark veins.

And now, Mother, who had been desecrated by that filthy blood mage, Quentin, because Hawke wasn’t fast enough, wasn’t strong enough, wasn’t observant enough to have saved her.

They all left her because she hadn't fought hard enough to make them stay.

She’d watch her family die, one by one, promising herself after each death that that would be the last. She’d clung onto the family she had left after each death. They were her anchor, the reason she found it in herself to move on after each debilitating loss.

And now she didn’t have any family left.

She felt guilt. _She hadn’t saved them._

She felt betrayal. _They hadn’t stayed alive for her._

She felt so many things - emotions that rose up only to be smothered by another, so quickly that she could barely grasp them - sitting on the ground in her mother’s room. And then… and then she felt nothing.

She slipped out a small knife that she kept on her at all times out of habit. This was Kirkwall after all, and even as a mage, you never knew when a small knife could become more useful than a blast of ice.

The knife felt heavy in her hands. She wondered how hard she’d have to press it into her flesh before it would cut, before it would maim, before it would kill. She laid the sharp end of the knife against the pale skin on her wrist. She pressed it down, hard, and dragged the knife across the skin.

Blood blossomed from the incision she’d made. She stopped and looked at it, fascinated, even as the pain registered as a dull sensation in the back of her mind. It wasn’t enough to kill her. She pressed down harder, and the blood started to trickle its way down her wrist. With a quick flick of the hand gripping the knife, she sliced the wrist deeper and wider and-

“Blood magic!” someone growled from behind her.

She turned around slowly, and Fenris stood at the doorway, his lips curled. His tattoos were alight, brilliant blue.

“Why are you insulting the memory of your mother by using blood magic?!” Fenris snarled, his entire face contorting in anger, even as his hands moved to the sword slung across his back and he stepped towards Hawke.

Hawke blinked several times, unmoving. Then she threw her head back and laughed. The laughter bubbled up out of her, like something obscene, blasphemy of the highest order, and yet she couldn’t stop herself. Tears were streaming down her face and oh, wasn’t that something; she thought she’d run out of tears a long time ago.

“This isn’t blood magic,” she sneered, with as much spite as she could muster, in between her hollow laughter. The mere idea that she would ever resort to blood magic, especially after what had been done to her Mother, was so repulsive and ridiculous that she was caught in this limbo; laughing and disgusted at the same time.

Fenris’ lyrium brands dimmed, and he stopped in his tracks, looking completely bewildered.

Hawke’s laughter soon petered out into silence. The knife fell out of hands, clattering to the floor. She buried her face in her uninjured hand, tears streaming down her cheeks.

“I can’t- _I can’t do this anymore_. I can’t soldier on,” she looked up at Fenris, “I can’t live anymore, Fenris, I don’t want to; please, please, _please_ , let me kill myself. _Please_ ,” she pleaded, covering her eyes with one hand again.

She was starting to feel numb, not just on the inside now, but her arm as well, the one with the cut wrist. She couldn’t move that hand anymore. She looked at it, the blood flowing freely now, drenching her lap with blood.

Then she looked at Fenris again. He was slack-jawed now, his arms at his sides, no longer reaching for the sword. He looked at her in horror now. His eyes were widened slightly, and they seemed to be asking her a question, ‘ _Why?_ ’

“ _Please_ ,” she whispered as she closed her eyes and her body tilted sideways, “ _let me die._ ”

The last thing she heard was Fenris’ startled cry, “Hawke!”

And then she gladly embraced the darkness that enveloped her.

**{***}**

Something was wrong.

She was waking up.

And even with her eyes closed, she knew this wasn’t the Fade.

She was alive. She could feel both her hands. Her wrist was bandaged, though it didn’t hurt very much.

Fenris.

A sob hitched in her throat. He hadn’t let her die. Why would he do this? Why wouldn’t he just let her go? Couldn’t he see how much she needed to do that?

“…Hawke?” a familiar voice asked. Fenris’ voice.

Without opening her eyes, she asked in a small voice, “Why?”

There was a palpable hesitation before Fenris replied, “That is not how you’re supposed to die.”

She hadn’t expected that answer at all. She opened her eyes, and struggled to sit up on the bed – surprised to note that it was her own bed; Fenris must have brought her back here after bringing her to Anders’ clinic – to face Fenris, who was sat beside the bed.

“How am I supposed to die?”

He looked so…vulnerable and helpless. “I… I do not know. But I know it is not by… that,” he shook his head, “Not in guilt, and shame and… thinking that you were alone, that you had lost everything.”

He sharpened his gaze at her, “Not you, Hawke. You’re not supposed to die like that.”

She kept silent, trying to understand what he’d just said. It didn’t make sense. Fenris… he didn’t hate her, but she knew he was always… cautious of her, because of her magic. She turned away, his gaze suddenly unbearable.

“This doesn’t change anything,” she said, staring at her writing desk at the other end of the room. It really didn’t change anything. She wasn’t going to suddenly feel better.

Gentle but gauntleted hands grabbed her shoulder, “You can’t do this, Hawke.”

She felt angry, suddenly. Who did he think he was, telling her what she could or couldn’t do? How would he ever know what it feels like to lose your family, the one permanent thing in a world full of uncertainties? He didn’t even remember his family.

“ _Don’t_ ,” she said, through clenched teeth. “Don’t tell me everything’s going to be okay. Don’t tell me not to let it get to me. Just don’t.”

He grasped her chin tenderly, careful not to scratch her with his gauntlets, and turned her face towards him. She refused to look at him, choosing to stare at a patch of his chestplate instead.

“No, I wasn’t going to say any of that. Hawke, please, look at me,” he nudged gently. She reluctantly tore her gaze from his chestplate to his face. His eyes were like mirrors, and she could see just how dishevelled she looked in their reflection.

Fenris smiled, a sad smile, a smile that was meant to comfort, but spoke more of shared sorrow. “Letting it get to you, you know what that’s called?” he asked, an obvious rhetorical question.

“Being alive,” he continued after a slight pause, letting go of her chin, “Being alive right now is all that counts. Even if it might not seem that way all the time.”

Her anger died just as suddenly as it had appeared. “But I don’t want to be alive.” She opened her arms and swept them across the room weakly, “I don’t know what to do, being alive.”

Fenris looked at her again with those sad, sad eyes that seemed to know too much, and to Hawke’s utter surprise, he agreed with her, “It is too much sometimes. Being free. Being alive.”

He didn’t understand what she was saying! “That’s not what I meant,” she frowned, straining to find a way to explain herself better. But she had so many warring emotions inside of her, so many thoughts that didn’t make sense and so many that did, that she found herself not knowing what to explain. “That’s not what I meant,” she repeated herself.

The elven warrior’s hands closed over hers, and he said softly, as if he was reciting it to himself rather than talking to Hawke, “You feel like you’ve been cast adrift in a world that suddenly seems so foreign to you. You feel like you’re drowning, like you’ve lost the centre of your being, the one thing you’ve clung onto. You feel guilt, so much guilt, at not having done enough. That you didn’t fight hard enough. But you also feel betrayed, that they would just… let go. You feel angry that _they_ didn’t fight hard enough. You don’t want to feel this way again and it’s not enough, feeling numb inside because there are things that still remind you of them sometimes, and death seems like the only way out.”

His eyes had grown unfocused during his morbid soliloquy but he ended it with a slight squeeze on Hawke’s hands, to let her know that he was still with her.

That was the most Hawke had ever heard him speak all at once. And the way he said it… Hawke remembered what Fenris had told him, the night she had visited him when he was roaring drunk and he had announced that it was the anniversary of his escape. Being left behind by Danarius, the Fog Warriors, the return of Danarius and… the murder of the very people who’d cared for him.

She realized now why he’d been able to describe what she felt so accurately. “Fenris… I’m so sorry. I didn’t remember…” she trailed off.

“No, it’s okay. That’s not what this is about,” Fenris dismissed her apology.

Then he went on, his voice growing stronger, “I wanted you to know, Hawke, you are… a much better person than I am. I don’t know what possessed me to even consider you would turn to blood magic. You are the only… mage I have ever learned to trust and that’s because you have a stronger spirit and a bigger heart than anyone else that I’ve ever known. You pick up the broken and the damaged, like myself, and you keep us and care for us, and you help us realize we can be more than just broken and damaged,” he paused, and now he spoke softly again, “If someone like me can learn to live with something like that, then someone like you needs to be able to live, to be alive when it feels impossible anymore.”

Hawke was stunned.

The world didn’t suddenly become all right again. She still felt the keening loss, and the grief, the anger, the warring emotions. If she thought too hard and too long about it, she could feel a sharp jolt of hurt. But it wasn’t the gaping hole in her chest that threatened to consume her from the inside. It was a steady burn, a dull ache in her heart that reminded her constantly of what she’s lost.

Because now she knew what she’d inadvertently ignored in her overwhelming despair. She had been so focused on the fact that she’s lost her family that she’s forgotten she had another one. A family she had made for herself, without even realizing it. A family that, somehow, had made her their anchor.

And she knew she wasn’t just wanted; she was needed. And if she’s their anchor, they could be hers. They’d always been, in a way.

This time, she’ll fight harder for them. This time, she knows they’ll fight harder for her. She would finally get a chance to do it right.

Tears pooled in her eyes, and then started running down her cheeks. She cried, great heaving sobs that wracked her entire body, leaving her shuddering and trying to reclaim her breath. She grappled blindly for Fenris through her tears, and he allowed himself to be caught by her. She pulled him towards her, and he came without resistance. He rested a hand behind her head and another on her back, letting her rest her face on his cold chestplate. The tears started running down his armour instead.

“Being alive. That’s the best thing there is, isn’t it?” she asked, finally, when she had stopped crying long enough to regain her composure.

Fenris smiled, a proper smile this time, and nodded, “Best thing there is.”

 

\-------END.

 

**Author's Note:**

> There was a very obscure reference to Doctor Who somewhere in this fic, and if you managed to find it, that is honestly very impressive.
> 
> Also, while writing this, I had 'Dead Man's Bones' playing on loop, which just seemed appropriate and probably helped nudge things along to the depressing end of the spectrum.
> 
> Lastly, I hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it (which is to say, I spent most of it choking on tears). Heh.


End file.
